


Surprise Visit

by life0nmars



Series: Crowley mmm [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring Crowley, Crowley using his powers during sex, Demon Sex, Drinking, F/M, Fluff, Het, Heterosexual Sex, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, King of Hell Crowley, Kissing, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Naked Female Clothed Male, One Shot, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Smut, Spanking, Squirting, Suit Kink, this is kind of long but I like description
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:25:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2797805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/life0nmars/pseuds/life0nmars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She meets a charming man at her regular bar down the street, but despite her desperation decides not to go home with him. </p><p>Of course, being the King of Hell, he always gets what he wants.</p><p>***</p><p>This is a one-shot involving that sly fox, Crowley. I'm just getting started in this whole fanfic smut world so please, feedback is welcome!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oh that smooth Craig!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet our protagonist and learn about her shitty day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first shot at smut, please let me know what you think! The build up is a bit lengthy but what can I say, I like feeling emotionally invested.

It's been a very, very long day. 

Well honestly it's been a very long week. Weeks, several of them. Creeping into the realm of long months. 

Let's just admit it - ever since she's turned 28 back in March it seems like time has all but stopped moving, however many stressful events manage to pack themselves in to every single day. One pile of crap after another, stacking up onto each other, oozing together to form one insurmountable peak composed of endless bullshit. Gray Sunday mornings following uneventful Saturday nights markedly NOT dancing out with friends at that swanky club. Exhausting Thursday afternoons full of redundant paperwork and leering stares she suffers through from her middle-aged, slime ball boss with erectile dysfunction (she checks his mail, she knows these things - shudder!), too many cups of coffee and not enough variety. Stuck at the age where she knows she should have a better job by now, but feeling too old to learn new tricks. Friends all getting married and having babies, none of which interests her but increasingly alienates her from her peers. 

Which leads down to this Friday night mid-December, less than a week until Christmas and she couldn't give less of a shit. All she wants is to sit by herself at her bar and spend half her paycheck on overly expensive drinks because after today she deserves a damn reward. And although she really seriously does not give a single shit, she won't spend quite that much because there's still Christmas shopping to finish. So she decides to indulge herself in just a couple of overly priced drinks because holy hell, the fucking day she's had.

She breezes into her bar, all striding Doc Martens, long black overcoat, and purpose. Jimmy is on duty tonight and as she swings herself up onto her normal bar stool he grabs a chilled pint glass to start her regular beer. "Hey Jim, not this time," she forestalls him. "Gimme a glass of the good stuff. It's payday and you would not believe what Roy did today."

With a nod, Jimmy replaces the pint glass and retrieves a highball glass. His long, tattooed arm reaches up to grab the bottle of Craig from the top shelf, then he pours a generous measure and plunks it down in front of her. She hands over her card and the look on her face says he doesn't even need to ask if he should keep her tab open. 

"Alright Princess, lay it on me," he says, grinning. Jimmy is the only person she has ever allowed to call her "Princess."

She takes a long pull of Craig, closing her eyes and savoring the complex flavor for a moment before swallowing it down, breathing through the delightful burn and relishing the warmth it brings to her tummy. She makes a show of he enjoyment for a moment before opening her eyes again and looking pointedly at Jimmy. 

"Roy," she makes the name a curse, "made a pass at me."

Jimmy guffaws, throwing his head back and slapping his thighs, then looks back at her with glee all over his bearded face. "I beg your pardon," he chortles, "your boss did what? We're talking about your boss right? Short little fucker, back hair and can't get it up?"

His mirth works to thaw some of the icy rage she'd been feeling since slightly after lunch. "Yes, that short little fucker."

"Oh please, do tell." He's chuckling again, reaching under his thick-framed glasses to wipe away a tear.

She takes another, less dramatic sip of Craig and launches into her story. "He has got to be the most awkward, sexless person alive," she groans. "So it's like 2 o'clock, right? And I've got this mountain of shit that needs going through still and I just want to get it all done a little early so I can fuck around for the last part of the day because it's Friday and fuck work. So I've got my head down and I'm just booking it though it all, and I fucking glance up at the clock and the asshole is standing right there fucking STARING at me. Like straight out of Office Space, he's got his stupid coffee cup and he's standing there and looking at me and for a second I swear he's going to say 'yeah if you could just come in on Saturday that would be greeeat.'" Jimmy grins at her, encouraging her to go on. "Only he doesn't say that, oh no. He LOOKS ME UP AND DOWN and says..." She takes another fortifying gulp of whiskey, closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "He says, 'Hey ah, you've been working real hard today, and ah, maybe you wanna relax, you know, have a good time? With me, I mean. After we're done today. Maybeee get a drink?' And he fucking GRINS at me like he's so damn proud of himself and just so certain I won't resist his charms, and he's got these awful tobacco stained teeth and when he smiles like that his overly long nose hair pokes out and it's just so GYUUGHHH!" She shudders and drains her glass.

Jimmy refills it for her and says, "Okay, ew. But I can tell there's more to this story. What happened after that?"

"Well you know me, I politely declined and told him it would be in our best professional interests if we could just remain friends and finished my work in a timely and organized manner," she rolls her eyes, sipping more carefully on her second glass of Craig. "What do you think happened? I freaked! I said some things that in no way could be interpreted as polite, told him to get back into his office before I called HR, and then utterly failed to focus on my work until it was time to finally get the fuck out of there. And you know what he did? Do. You. Know. What. He. Did." Jimmy raises his eyebrows in question. "He slapped another fucking pile of files on my desk before ducking out an hour early!"

"That complete dickhead!" Jimmy exclaims. "So not only does he have ED but is also lacking in the balls department?"

"It seems the unfortunate phallic references have no bounds with him," she agrees. 

Just then a group of people wander up to the bar and, with a parting grin, Jimmy goes over to take their drink orders.

She grabs another cocktail napkin from the stack in front of her and starts folding it for something to do. The bar is starting to fill up now with the Friday night crowd and she's content with her relative solitude as Jimmy dances back and forth behind the bar, filling orders and laughing with his patrons. 

She likes Jimmy. He's been her friend and confidante since she moved into town two years ago and started coming in to his bar. She's attached to everyone around here in her own corner of the city and thinks of it now as her bar, too, even though she's never worked here or anything. She's familiar with just about everyone who frequents here even if she's not necessarily buddies with many of them. So when she spots the unfamiliar but darkly handsome gentleman making eye contact with her down the bar, she is compelled to hold his gaze and smile at him, raising her glass in welcoming salute.


	2. Well Hello there, you charming demon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She meets a handsome stranger... and strange doesn't begin to cover it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the King of Hell makes his entrance! 
> 
> You may have noticed my main lady has no name nor physical descriptors. This is so that it's easy for the reader to insert themself into the story without all that awkward "[Y/N]" stuff that, imho, takes away from the flow of the narrative. 
> 
> This chapter is quite long, but I enjoy my smut with an emotionally involved, gradual lead-up.
> 
> Enjoy!

The stranger smiles back, a smug lift of one side of his face, and she can swear that his eyes are glinting with mischief even from half a bar away. He's also sitting alone at the bar, looking relaxed and interested in her, and he tips his head slightly forward as he returns her salute, raising a glass very similar to her own. She grins and they take twin sips, holding each other's gaze as their heads tip back. She chuckles to herself and turns back to her napkin origami.

She's trying to catch Jimmy's eye to get a refill when she feels a warm presence next to her. "Couldn't help overhearing a bit, earlier. Your boss sounds like he could use a lesson or two in manners," says a dusky, lilting English accent in her ear. That voice elicits shivers from the back of her neck straight to her toes, sending tendrils of thrilling warmth that settle low in her belly. It's a voice that she can tell could either gets its owner in a lot of trouble, or talk its way out of it. She suspects it's done a fair amount of both. 

She turns to her left and sees the man from down the bar. He's dressed quite nicely, in a simple yet tailored black suit and shirt, a silver patterned tie the only break in the monochrome theme. He appears to be in his late 40s, a few silver strands in his scruffy beard and threaded through his slightly mussed, short dark hair. His warm, dark eyes are smiling at her and she sees she was right a minute ago - there is definitely mischief sparkling there. 

"The name's Crowley," he says, offering his hand. She takes it and must have introduced herself in return, but is completely distracted by the feeling of that hand - warm but dry, the palm soft yet with some calluses on the fingers as though he's used to both desk work and using hand tools. She pictures him, shirt sleeves rolled up, working on maybe repairing some furniture, a bit of fine sanding on an old dresser, smoothing that palm over it to test the grain. It isn't much of a mental leap to picture that same palm caressing her bare backside before coming down in a stinging slap.

He was saying something. "Uh, um, wow I am so sorry. I missed that. What did you say?" She blinks away the daydream and hopes the lights are dim enough to hide her sudden flush.

His grin reveals even, white teeth. "I was just asking if the lady would care for another drink. I think I noticed you and I share an affinity for the same brand. Craig?"

"Yes! Yes, please, I mean. And it's gotta be Craig on a day like this. Aged at least twelve years if Jimmy's got it."

As if on cue, Jimmy appears and fills both their glasses. He gives her a wink on his way back down the bar. She smirks in return and turns back to Crowley. 

"To a fine distraction from a shit day," he says, clinking his glass to hers. Something about hearing that velvet voice and accent indulging in vulgarity tickles her, and she giggles before taking a drink. This stranger has actually made her GIGGLE. 

Before long, she has opened up to Crowley. It's over an hour later and they're into their second Craig together, and he knows all about her shit job and her creep boss, her spoiled little sister who can't hold a job or any meaningful relationships, has crashed not one but TWO of their parents' cars and still manages to get money out of them all the time, and then the conversation turns toward her ex.

"And I mean, it was fine you know, we were fine, but it wasn't anything exciting. And I NEED exciting. I need passion! And he just I dunno, got comfortable and boring. And I've been talking your ear off forever now and holy hell you must be excruciatingly bored."

He chuckles. "It's quite all right, pet. I really do find you fascinating. Scout's honor." Crowley, meanwhile, had compiled a mental list of the people in this woman's life who were just begging for a good, solid torture. From the sounds of it, most of them were going to end up downstairs eventually and he was beginning to feel creative. Something about her struck him. Maybe it was that laugh, sincere whole-body chuckles that proved contagious. Maybe her wit, or the way she peppered her speech with casual vulgarity, or the comfortable way she suggested increasingly clever ways to employ violence against the scoundrels in her life. Crowley was absolutely smitten. 

Their barstools had by now ended up quite close to each other and she can't help but notice the tingles where their knees are touching. Her breath hitches in her throat and she clears it, taking another sip from her glass. The conversation hadn't been entirely one-sided. She'd learned that Crowley was in publishing, and was actually 50 years old though she was quick to tell him that he certainly didn't look it. He of course loved his Scotch, and had a wide range of musical taste. He also enjoyed carving in his spare time, and the image of him with rolled-up shirt sleeves popped back into her head, this time with an apron on and some sharp carving tools in his hand. Imagining this dark stranger indulging his creative side was immeasurably sexy. 

"You know, I find you to be far too intelligent to be giving that mutton-head any of your time, pet," he was saying. The conversation had swung back around to Roy and the events of earlier today. Crowley actually seemed to be quite upset on her behalf - almost protective.

"Oh, I know it," she replies. "I just can't seem to settle on something that I want to be for the rest of my life. It seems so boring, and final, you know? Uh, not that there's anything against having a grown-up career," she backpedals. 

He just chuckles darkly. "Oh, darling, I'm anything but boring." Something about that sentence sends another thrill through her. "Actually I may not have been completely honest with you earlier. I'm not exactly in publishing." 

She knew it! No respectable, gainfully employed, dynamic, sexy as hell English gentleman would ever be interested in her. She wonders if the accent is fake, too.

"You wound me!" He exclaims, pressing a hand to his chest. (Did she just say all that out loud?!) "One, thank you for the compliments. My ego can never take too much stroking." She wants to giggle at the innuendo but something in his gaze freezes it before it emerges. "Two, darling, I'm really very interested in you." He reaches over and runs one of those warm hands up her arm. The contact blazes on her skin and she feels that flush creeping up on her again. "And three, the accent is certainly real, however I was not born in England. I was born in Scotland," HolyfuckIbethelooksgorgeousinakilt "in 1661."

Several expressions fight for dominance on her face at the same time. Polite inclination of her head as though to say, "I'm sorry, did I hear that correctly?" Then the gamut from confusion, to disbelief, to anger, to resigned this-is-it-all-men-are-crazy-or-stupid, to mirth, and when she takes in the utter seriousness of his expression, she ends up frowning and laughing at once, with tears pricking the corners of her eyes. "And here I thought we were getting along so well. Didn't realize my people skills were so rusty. Well, nice meeting you," and she goes to stand, but can't. She is literally stuck to her stool as though invisible ropes have lashed her to it.

"Now sit still and listen to me. Please." His eyes hold darkness, sincerity, something dangerous and something just a little bit terrified. She takes a deep breath (and another slug o'Craig) and looks politely in his eyes. He has been a complete gentleman so far and despite herself she is drawn to him. 

"I was born in 1661. My mother was a witch and my father, well, any one of about a dozen blokes." He shrugs. "I met a demon at a crossroads and sold my soul for... well, we'll get to that later if you're a good girl," his voice drops at these last few words from sexy to positively sinful, and she finds herself grinning despite this situation. He grins back, feeling more at ease now that he has her listening.

"So, what are you now? Unless that's rude. Is that rude? "

"Oh no that's not rude, pet, at least not to me. I'm a demon now. And not just any demon." He flashes a cheeky grin. "I'm the King of Hell."

"The King?"  
"Of Hell."  
"The KING of - "  
"Hell, yes."  
"As in... like royalty? Was the title... passed down? How does that work?"

Legitimate curiosity. The tight ball he hadn't realized was twisting in his chest starts to loosen. "More like a power vacuum and I took advantage." He knows what is coming next and drains his drink in anticipation. 

"Alright. So, say I believe you and I'm really quite sure that it's to do with your rugged good looks and I would be very put-out if you wasted them by being mental," she says, only slightly nervously rambling. "Say I believe you. What... what does that mean, King of Hell? Do you have like... supplicants? You make laws, orchestrate beheadings? What are the perks?"

"Finish your drink, love." She does as she's told. "Watch."

She focuses on the two empty glasses. With a surreptitious glance in Jimmy's direction and satisfied that his attention is directed elsewhere, Crowley looks back to the empty glasses - which are now once again containing a few fingers each of Craig. She keeps staring at the glasses as though nothing had happened, then blinks a few times. She glances up at Crowley and then back to the glasses. They remain stubbornly filled. A slow, cautious grin spreads across her face. Tentatively, she reaches both hands over and picks up both glasses. After a brief examination, she presses his glass into his hand, and wordlessly, she clinks hers against his. They drink. 

It is the best Craig she has ever put in her mouth. 

"That was just the beginning, kitten." She feels her heart thump erratically in her chest and she feels very, very warm all over. 

This is insane. It has been a very, very long day. The plan was to come in, bitch to Jimmy about Roy, enjoy a couple glasses of her favorite pity-party Scotch, and go home for a good sulk. Be in bed by 8pm, snuggled in watching her latest obsession on Netflix. Spend the weekend updating her mediocre resume and trying to find another dismal, barely-above-poverty paying office job where she can dodge another balding skeeze of a boss until the next HR nightmare forces the cycle to repeat. And here she is, propped on a barstool next to a ridiculously gorgeous, older man thoroughly attracted to him, on her fifth? sixth? highball of Craig and, she realizes, it's almost midnight. She's spent the last six hours in his company and yet he seems just as into her as she is in him. 

And as if it couldn't get better... he's just shown her his magic. She's in the company of the King of Hell. He can refill glasses of Scotch, what else can he do? 

She's in the company of the King of Hell. 

Sudden terror grips her. The top of her head feels cold and tight. Her eyes seem to be moving faster that her brain can process. Her breathing noticeably picks up and her heart is hammering in her ears. She hopes without really believing it that Crowley doesn't notice. She starts stammering excuses and apologies, anything to bring this evening to a close and get the fuck out of there. 

Crowley, of course, does notice. Her pupils have dilated and he can smell the sweat glistening on her palms. He had expected a reaction, humans who were oblivious of the supernatural and slapped in the face with the reality of it did tend to take a turn. When she starts to look for an escape, he does not once again lash her to the stool. He does make sure she has all of her effects (she had closed her tab when the dashing stranger started buying her drinks), purse and coat on as it's quite chilly out, and calmly follows her outside. 

She stands on the sidewalk outside of the bar and breathes the cold, winter air deeply. She still feels a pleasant amount of tipsy from the excellent Scotch, and escaping from the hot, musty air inside the busy bar has done wonders for her anxiety level. 

She turns to her left and he strolls from the doorway to her side. "I'm sorry-"

"No need to apologize, pet. I was rather expecting that kind of reaction. You don't get to be a 400 year old supernatural being and the King of Hell being blissfully ignorant of the human mind. I started out King of the Crossroads, you know."

"Crossroads? Like where you sold your soul when you were still a little Scottish human? Ohmygod did you wear a kilt?!"

His gravelly chuckle, heard clearly out in this brisk cold air, held just a hint of Disney villain - the kind you weren't supposed to root for, but they were just so sassy and stylish that you couldn't help it. The sound thrills her straight to her core.

"Yes, those kind of Crossroads. People can make deals there. Any Crossroads will do as long as you can bury a box in the middle. Gotta have spell related bits and bobs in, picture of yourself, other less sanitary things. Special demon shows up, makes your deal, usually ten years left to live and whatever silly human desire you may have, deal is sealed with a kiss and then your soul is damned for all eternity to hang out with me downstairs."

"And the kilt?" She is NOT going to give this one up.

"I had very athletic calves. And no, nothing underneath." He looks down at her from the corner of his eye. She's got her bottom lip between her teeth and is grinning around it in absolute glee. He would tell her anything if it makes her face keep doing that. 

She turns to him, quirking an eyebrow. "Do I get to know yet what was so important that you sold your soul for it? Was it super guitar skills like Tommy in Oh Brother? Wait did they even have guitars in the 1600s?"

He smiles at her. "They had versions of guitars, yes. But no, that's not what I sold my soul for. Good movie, though."

She bumps her shoulder against his wool-coat-clad arm. He leans companionably back. "Well?" She asks. 

"I'd rather show you. But I'm not sure it's first date fodder."

Tingles run down her spine as those words sink in. First date? Did he consider this a date? Well that's gratifying. And with that answer, she suddenly knows exactly what his soul was worth to him. 

Something else has registered. "Sealed with a kiss? Seriously?"

He grins devilishly down at her, those mischievous eyes glinting again. 

"So, if I wanted to... would I have to... I mean..."

"Let's have it, kitten. Say it. I want you to ask me."

She takes a deep breath. "If I wanted to kiss you, would I have to make a deal and sell you my soul?"

The tip of his pink tongue flicks out to wet his lower lip. He captures that lip between those white teeth briefly, then he's grinning at her in a way that can only be described as predatory. "Why would you need to ask me that? Go on."

"Because I..."

He bends down until his hot breath is caressing her ear. "Let's hear it, love." That sinful voice is hardly above a whisper. 

"I've been wanting to kiss you since I first heard your voice," she breathes. 

"For you, no charge," he growls.

And then it's happening. His left arm is wrapped around her, hand gripping her coat at the small of her back and pulling her closer to him. His right hand has gently tangled itself in her hair, cradling the back of her head and tipping her face up to meet his. He has about 4" on her and it's perfect, he's leaning down and she's on her toes, Doc Martens creaking around her ankles. His hot breath is wonderful on her sensitive lips, smelling of Scotch and heat and sex, and as he gently captures her lower lip between his and softly swipes the tip of his tongue across it, something inside her disintegrates. She feels her eyes swim out of focus even though they're closed and it feels like someone has poured warm honey in her belly. Her arms reach up to wrap around his neck, one hand idly combing through the hair at his nape. She moans embarrassingly into his mouth. They kiss slowly, all soft tongue and wet lips, so sensual and almost sweet that her knees grow weak in seconds. She tugs gently at his lower lip with her teeth and he groans and chuckles and whispers "naughty minx" against her lips. They're both breathing hard as though they've just run a mile, or seven. 

"You're... really good... at that," she pants. She grins and drops her hands to his lapels, gripping tight and pulling him in for round two, this time with an urgency and desperate need. It's been months since she's had a proper snog and he feels so good, so warm pressed against her, strong arms and thick chest and she can tell that though this man is getting to be past middle age, he is extremely well-built and takes pride in taking care of himself. 

He lets her control the kiss now, pushing her tongue out to slide against his own, drawing back to bite his lower lip again, then gently tracing it with her tongue soothingly. Their hot breath creates steam in the cold air and mingles in a cloud above their heads. She's so damp in her pants that shifting her legs at all sends her other lips sliding together too. She slides her arms around his waist and pulls him even closer to her, desperate for some friction, wanting to try to feel through all their layers whether her hunch about his soul's price was correct. 

It is. 

Between two thick wool coats, trousers, pants, and his suit jacket she can feel him. She presses one thigh between his to try to get a more accurate reading and gasps into his mouth in shock. 

He pulls away slightly and smirks. She's beautiful, all wide glazed eyes and flushed cheeks, lips plumped and red from kissing dropped open in a delicate "O" of pleased surprise.


	3. Will she, won't she?  (hint: she will.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self-control isn't all it's cracked up to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, the moment we've been waiting for! Maybe.

That can't be real. That has to be a sock or something he's stuffed into his trousers. It's... intimidating as fuck. 

"How-" her voice is husky and so full of lust she doesn't even recognise it. She clears her throat and tries again. "How big... is it? He? I feel like he should be personified. Does he have a name? Ohmygod can I please call him Willie?! Like the Scottish guy on The Simpsons! Is this rude? You know what, I don't even care. You sold your soul for that monster, you get to sit through awkward questions."

He has been silently chuckling at her through this speech, dark eyes half-closed in lust and glittering with amusement. 

"He does not have an official name but there have been quite a few nicknames given to him. You may call him whatever you wish - Willie sounds perfect. And in answer to your most pressing-" he thrusts his hips into hers and she gasps "-question, he is ten inches long. I never measured the girth but I understand that's rather impressive as well. I sold my soul for the extra three inches. I just wanted to reach double digits." If there is such a think as shy smugness, Crowley is absolutely oozing it right now. 

She briefly wonders what else he might be oozing. 

"You are completely mental," she mumbles, grabbing his lapels once again and burying her face in his chest. His scent is intoxicating. She hadn't much noticed in the bar, but out here in the open air, snuggled so tightly to him, she's enjoying every molecule radiating from his cool skin. It's expensive aftershave and Craig and shoe polish and a hint of sulphur. It's heat and sin and sex. He smells like July 5th - the day after the fireworks in America when the sky hangs heavy and wet, spent gunpowder trapped in the air until that sweet, warm summer rain washes it down. 

They stay like that, holding each other close in the cold, for several minutes. Gradually she comes back down to earth and heaves a very heavy sigh. "I have to get home."

"Hmm," he replies, combing his fingers through her soft hair. 

"By myself," she clarifies. 

He frowns. "Kitten, I could show you the night of your life," he says softly, the words rumbling through the chest under her ear. 

"Oh I know."

"I can do things to you..." She moans softly, eyes sliding closed at this sentence. "Darling, why don't you just let me take care of you? Give you the royal treatment." She can hear the smirk in his voice. 

"I just don't think I can. I've never been the type who brings guys home the first night."

"King of Hell," he huffs. "I'm not just any old bloke from the pub. I didn't meet you on accident. I want you. Very much." He's beginning to sound petulant and he knows it, but there's nothing he can do about it. 

"Well, your majesty," she grins, "how about this - I will give you my number. That's further than most men get."

He pouts a little but agrees, and hands his cell phone over with the 'add new contact' screen pulled up. She puts in her name and number, and after a couple moments of thought she throws her address in, too. He glances at the screen for a moment before sliding the phone back into his pocket. 

"At least let me take you home. I might be the King of Hell, but I'm still a gentleman." He draws himself up to his full height and offers his arm to his lady.

Giggling once again, she accepts and winds her arm through his. It's only a few blocks to her apartment, so they set off at an unhurried pace down the sidewalk. 

Suddenly he slips into a side alley, dragging her along. He pulls her into his arms and she just has enough time to panic and second guess her instincts, when the strangest feeling like being sucked into a vacuum comes over her, and then she finds herself in her living room. 

He releases her immediately. Her breathing slowly returns to normal as she takes in her surroundings - her couch, her cheap IKEA entertainment center, her cat looking at the pair of them like they had popped in out of nowhere. Which is, of course, exactly what happened. 

"Sorry, darling. I can never resist showing off. One of the perks, being the King. Instant transport. Anywhere." 

"Wow, that's... wow. Thank you. That was incredible."

"Any time, pet. And now that I've seen you safely back home, I'll be going." He slides his hand down her arm, takes her hand, raises it to his lips and presses a soft kiss to her knuckles. "Unless you've changed your mind?" He's looking up at her, smoldering gaze holding hers prisoner, lips lightly brushing over the skin of her knuckles as he speaks. 

She screws her eyes shut against his persuasive expression and takes a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Although with the scent and pheromones rolling off him, this isn't as effective as she'd hoped. 

"I'm certain, Crowley," her reply is breathy and full of want, but she manages a small smile. "I had a lovely time tonight. I really, really hope to see you again. Soon."

"Me too, love." And with a snap of his fingers, he's gone.

*~*~*~*~*

She lets out a breath she hadn't realize she is holding. she really, REALLY hopes that Crowley calls her. She feels just on this side of freaked out about the whole King of Hell thing, but mostly she's intrigued. Real magic? Real demons?? What else is out there? She is more than certain that Crowley would take her anywhere she wants to go and to see anything she wants to see. 

Well, time to get ready for bed. Alone. 

Sigh. 

She feeds her cat his supper, and then she finds herself in the bathroom and begins brushing her teeth, looking into her reflection's eyes. Suddenly the need for a full shower hits her. As she waits for the water to heat up, her mind once again begins to wander. She can still smell him on her, still almost feel the faint prickles of his beard brushing her cheek. The sound of that voice, like velvet over gravel, and the heat of him. She gets into the shower, washing in an automatic way. Something about Crowley is just compelling. He'd been a gentleman all evening, making sure her glass was never empty, listening to her stories and complaints, telling her how gorgeous she is and how intelligent, laughing at her jokes. Those hands, his mischievous eyes, the solid, strong body she could feel under that suit. She feels a rush of heat at her center. His lips, soft and insistent, his tongue warm and wet. She gasps and begins teasing her fingers into her folds, finds her clit and gently rubs circles over it, already stiff and swollen. She's replaying the kiss in her head, his fingers in her hair, her thigh pressing between his legs and discovering that monster, hard and ready for her. She's rubbing faster and pressing harder. In her mind's eye, she's unzipped him and pulled him out of his trousers, right there on the sidewalk, gets on her knees and takes his gorgeous cock in her mouth as far as she can, and there's lust in his eyes and his hands are pulling on her hair and people are watching and her mascara is running as his size makes her eyes water and he's calling her pet, and kitten, and promising her the world because her mouth feels so good around him-

Her orgasm explodes from her, she cries out unexpectedly, echoing in the small bathroom, and her fingers are covered in slick juices, and she's panting in the steam-filled shower. She groans. Quickly rinsing off once again she turns off the shower and gets out, toweling off, wrapping her wet hair up and finishing her post-shower rituals before trudging off to her room. Alone. 

She slumps into bed. Shouldn't have turned him away. A fire has been slowly burning in her all evening and it's no closer to going out now than it was when their tongues were sliding together. Unf. She squirms in her bed, naked and still warm from her shower. Her towel has slipped down over her eyes and she's once again caught in a daydream. As if drawn by magnets, her fingers once again find her still swollen clit. As she begins to gently massage herself, she imagines that voice encouraging her, those arms around her, his scent...

...his scent? Expensive aftershave and shoe polish and just a hint of sulphur...

She hears a whoosh and golden light leaks in from under her towel. The air is instantly full of warmth and the smell of melting paraffin. 

She throws the towel to the floor with one hand, the other still slowly teasing herself. Every surface in her room is covered in lit candles, casting warm light to every corner. And right in the middle, in his tailored black suit with a tumbler in his hand, is Crowley himself. 

"Hello, darling. By all means, don't stop on my account." His dusky voice is low and full of lust.

He strolls casually closer to her, gazing intently into her eyes. As he reaches the head of her bed, standing to her left side, he stops and allows his gaze to leisurely make its way down her naked body. She isn't normally an exhibitionist, but having HIM, here, fully dressed and calmly taking in her completely nude and completely aroused body is intensely sexy. He takes a sip from the glass, pulls the plush chair from the corner of her room up to himself with a casual wave of his hand, and settles in. "As you were," he insists. He's propped his right ankle over his left knee, glass in his hand on the arm of the chair, gesturing with his free hand toward her fingers. 

She's never done this in front of someone else before. She isn't even certain that she actually looks good at all while rubbing one off. But for him, she knows she can do it. She props herself up on a couple pillows, then looks straight into his eyes while allowing her hands to discover her body. Biting her lip, she runs her left hand down from her neck to her breasts, teasing and pinching her nipples one at a time, while her right slides up her leg from her knee, up her thigh, and then she cups her mound, massaging her clit with her palm. She moans, using just her middle finger to slide up and down her outer lips, using her left hand to continue massaging her breasts. She isn't normally a name-user in bed, finding it slightly awkward, but she just knows that he'd be the type to be into it. Right as she slides two fingers through her wet folds, slicking them up, and then pushing them into herself, she moans out his name, "Mmm, Crowley," barely more than a whisper. 

She hears his sharp intake of breath and his eyes seem to catch the light strangely because for half a second she swears they flash red. Then she remembers who he is and the realization hits that they very well might have actually flashed red, and this sends such a thrill through her of half-terror-half-lust that her hips buck up off her bed and she cries out. Her soaked fingers slide up and find her clit again and she's rubbing it, around and around, sliding one finger up and down right through the middle, gently using three to brush back and forth over it, massaging just off to the left of it, hard, and there is so much sensation and he's watching her with feral eyes and his scent is in her nose and she's grabbing her own breast so hard she's going to have bruises and she's coming, and coming, andcomingandcomingandcoming, screaming out his name and he's there, reaching for her spent hand and Oh so slowly licking and sucking her fingers clean for her, humming low in his chest and rolling his eyes up in ecstasy. 

She has NEVER been so fucking turned on. 

He replaces her hand on her stomach, leans low and whispers, "That was exquisite." Then he captures her mouth in a kiss, pushing his tongue against hers so she can taste herself still lingering on it. She moans unashamedly into his mouth. 

He breaks the kiss and straightens up. 

"Now, because I am such a gentleman, I want to be clear with you. I want you, pet. I want to do all manner of dirty things to you tonight. I really want to fuck you. I just want to be sure that our mutual consent is agreed upon."

She blinks slowly up at him, still riding the high of her two orgasms in less than ten minutes. "Crowley, I am all yours."

The wolfish grin is back. "Any requests?"

"I love a man who takes control. Something tells me you might be good at that, your Highness."

The red glint flashes across Crowley's eyes again. He removes his wool overcoat and slings it over the back of the chair. He moves to set his tumbler seemingly on thin air, and it disappears once he removes his hand - she imagines the big, old, mahogany desk probably located in his study where that drink has very likely just appeared. Neat trick. 

He moves to kneel on the bed next to her, still in his full suit and tie, complete with the shiny, black leather shoes that probably cost more than her rent. He reaches down, grabs her ankles, and tugs her legs until they are straight and then straddles her hips. The material of his suit rubs deliciously over her sensitive skin. He is kneeling over her middle, all dark-clad and slightly ominous, outlined by the soft candlelight that still flickers in her room. "Unzip me," he says softly. 

Oh shit, it's been so long since she's even gotten laid let alone by a guy who wants to be in control. Her breathing picks back up and she reaches down with one hand and slowly tugs down his zipper. He smirks. "I think it's time that you and Willie here became acquainted," he declares. "Pull him out."

She reaches eagerly through the open zipper and - surprise, surprise - her demon lover is going sans pants. Her fingers brush the thick, trimmed hair at the base of his cock. She wraps her fingers around his girth and a small whimper escapes her mouth. Crowley is absolutely huge!

She draws Willie carefully out through the open zipper. He's hard, and smooth, with a slight curve upward. It's absolutely beautiful. Crowley has his arms folded over his chest, left hand raised to stroke his scruffy beard. "Lick him."

Gladly! She leans forward, steadying his cock with her right hand, and licks off the clear drop of precum at the very tip. Crowley groans softly in his throat. Encouraged, she flattens her tongue and runs it up and down the sensitive patch under the head. "Oh that's it, darling," he moans. She continues, licking a firm stripe from base to tip, lingering at that spot for just a second before repeating the process. "You look lovely like this," he croons, "all flushed, that perfect mouth open wide for me, running that clever tongue all over my cock, you dirty little girl." She flutters her eyelids closed for a moment and just hums at these words, the vibrations going straight to Crowley's cock. She opens her eyes and looks brazenly at him. "I bet you wanted this all along, bet you were thinking of me like this in your little shower session weren't you?" "Uh huuuhhhh" "You want more, kitten?" "Uh HUH!" "Put your mouth on him. Wrap those gorgeous lips around me, love." It's a tight fit but she manages to get a couple inches of him in her mouth. "Suck, gorgeous." And she sucks. She hollows her cheeks and runs her tongue under the head, bobbing he head slowly along as much as she could, thoroughly enjoying herself. He looks almost obscenely sexy, tight suit, monstrous dick poking out all pink and slick with her saliva, eyes glinting from red to dark, dilated brown and back again. "Hands, pet." And she strokes her hands - both of them - up and down in tandem with her head. "Good girl," he groans, breathless, gently placing his hands on the back of her head, gripping her hair and pulling it just on this side of painfully. "Oh, don't stop, don't you dare stop, you perfect fucking dirty slut, my little whore, just for me, my darling, that's it, that's it," and she feels so powerful, bringing this King literally to his knees, watching this demon utterly fall apart as she worships his cock. He starts to tense up, the thrusting rhythm he's kept with her face beginning to falter and she knows he's close. "Get ready love, open that beautiful throat up for me-" and with a low, growling groan he's coming hot and hard in her mouth and she greedily swallows every drop. He pulls out of her grasp and bends swiftly, crushing her swollen lips in a passionate, messy kiss, tasting himself in her mouth and moaning in appreciation.

He gracefully dismounts from the bed, taking her by surprise. 'Demon stamina," he reminds her, seeing the expression on her face. Usually after such an epic blow job, guys - human guys - would be ready for a nap. Her King (when did she start thinking of him as hers?) merely grins at her, that familiar mischief stirring again. He's unbuttoned his suit jacket and laid it atop his overcoat on her chair. He has not tucked away his manhood, and it bobs proudly from his trousers, seemingly still mostly hard. He slowly loosens his tie, lifts it over his head and slips it over hers. "Hang on to this for me, yeah?" he winks at her. She has the feeling that he could easily wave his hand and his clothes would magically disappear, but he seems to enjoy this slow seduction. Next come the buttons on his shirt, just the first couple at his throat. He undoes his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves. He now looks much the same as her early daydreams. Well, with the addition of that glorious cock on prominent display. 

"Spread your legs." 

"Yes, sir," she says in a voice she hardly recognizes as her own. It's all low and breathy and SEXY. She spreads her legs open as far as they'll go. Her shower-damp hair is half dried and thoroughly tousled and she palms her breasts, the silver patterned tie hanging artfully in between. 

His breath catches and he just gazes at her in awe. "You... are perfect. Absolutely perfect." 

"Thank you, sir," the correct answer comes easily. She bites her lip and stares back. 

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he once again climbs onto the bed, kneeling this time between her knees. He strokes himself a few times as a very wicked grin spreads over his face. "Let it never be said that I'm a bad guest," he says in mock seriousness. "It's only polite to reciprocate." And with that, he lays flat on his stomach in front of her, waving a pillow over to himself and slipping it under her hips. He settles in and begins laying a hot trail of wet kisses from her knee up toward her center. Right before his mouth hits her sweet spot, he stops and gives her other leg the same treatment. 

She throws her head back on the pillows and lets a low groan escape her throat. Those warm palms follow, caressing her thighs and bringing a ridiculous smile to her face. He then slings her legs over his shoulders, wraps his arms under and around her hips and clasps his hands over her belly. She can't help but bring her hands down, running her fingers affectionately through his short, dark hair. He kisses her outer lips gently for a few moments, then lightly runs his tongue over their seam. "My god, and I don't say that lightly, are you shaved?" he asks. 

"Waxed, actually."

"This is delightful!" He rubs his lips gently over hers again. "It's so smooth! Oh darling I'm going to make it a point to be down here as much as possible."

She giggles, pleased with her obsessive nature for once. Her giggles soon turn to gasps and moans. His tongue has made its way to her inner folds now, flattened and softly tracing from her entrance up to her clit, swirling around it, and back again. "Ohhh fuuuck, " her fingers are tightening in his hair, nails beginning to scratch at his scalp. He breathes through his mouth, alternately hot and cool as he breathes out and then in. He licks long, slow stripes up her slit, wrapping his lips around her clit and sucking lightly. Her breath is coming faster now, hips beginning to keep rhythm with his licks, gently humping his scruffy face. Her eyes are rolled up in her head, the only sounds are her whimpers and the erotic, soft wet sounds of his mouth working on her. She's building up to another orgasm when one of his hands slides off her belly and comes around, and as he's sucking her clit he slowly thrusts one thick finger into her. Crooking it up to brush against that spot inside, he picks up the pace and then adds a second finger. Her mouth is open in a silent scream as he pounds those digits into her, firmly tongueing her clit. He can't help but peek at her face and seeing that expression, he moans into her, sending those deep vibrations through her. She cries out, spiraling faster and faster up and up, the only sensation in the universe is her pussy and the things being done to it by this demon. He feels her muscles begin to flutter and holds her hips in place with his hand, and doesn't stop doesn't stop doesn't stop, and she's screaming and bucking and nearly ripping his scalp off as she comes, warm liquid spurting out of her around his fingers. He is insufferably proud in that moment. A little bit of her has now soaked the collar of his shirt and he's pretty sure he's never washing it again. 

She rides out her orgasm, urgent buckings eventually slowing down and her muscles relaxing. She reaches for his shoulders and hauls him up on top of her, wrapping her arms around her King and plastering him with wet, grateful kisses, tasting herself on his tongue. He sticks his fingers in her mouth and she wantonly sucks her own juices from them.

"Can I keep you?" she asks, grinning lazily at him. She knows how clingy that probably sounds but in this moment she absolutely does not give a single shit. 

"As long as you want to," he replies, grinning back. He is, remarkably, struck by much the same train of thought as she is at that moment. 

He rolls over onto his side and presses a cool glass of water into her hand. She drinks it gratefully. Knowing how much power he has, and that he's using even just a little bit of it to care for her, would make her knees weak if she'd been currently using them.

Crowley once again bounds off of the bed. He pulls her up after him, cradles her face in his hands and begins kissing her. Their tongues slide lazily against one another as they explore each other with their hands. She reaches up and digs her fingers into his short hair once again, thoroughly mussing it up. He's stroking her hair, her face, and then down her back with those big, warm hands as his cock once again stiffens, resting against her belly, leaking and leaving a shiny, sticky smear on her skin. She slides her hands down the sides of his face to his shoulders, feeling the firm muscles through the fabric of his button-up. His hands settle down to cup her bum and he begins trailing open-mouthed kisses from her ear, down her neck and across her collar bone. He bends down and kisses the sensitive skin beneath her breasts before licking her nipple, sucking it into his mouth and gently biting it. He repeats this treatment on her other nipple, making little satisfied noises in his throat. Her eyes are closed and she's whimpering at the intense sensations, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other his hair, tugging it by the roots. 

He makes his way back up to her ear. "Darling... I'm going to fuck you senseless," he growls. She nearly combusts. 

He grabs her by the waist and tosses her back on the bed. With a snap of his fingers, the tie that had been around her neck now wraps around her wrists and secures them to her headboard. She's flushed and panting, a feral glint of her own now flashing in her eyes. 

He begins to unbutton his shirt, enjoying how she's moaning and tugging against her restraints, desperate to run her hands over his body, to grab him and pull him closer. As he removes the shirt, she sees a black undershirt. He unbuttons his trousers and opens them just enough that his entire package is on display. He is the embodiment of sex - hair all messy, black tank top showing his muscular shoulders and arms, intricately detailed tattoo of a dragon wrapping over both upper arms and she can imagine that it covers his back as well. Trousers hanging artfully on his hips, glorious dick and bollocks on full display. Her pussy is absolutely dripping at the sight of him. 

The red glint passes through his eyes. "You want something, love?"

"Mmmf, YES. Please!"

"What is it that you want? What can we do for you?"

"YOU!"

"Afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific," he taunts. He flexes, and his cock jumps and bobs obscenely at her. 

"Oh, god -"

"Ah ah, try again darling."

"FUCK!" He grins. "Crowley! Please, I want it! Fuck me! Holy fucking hell, Crowley, slide that beautiful thing inside me, now!"

"We aim to please," he replies. He whips the undershirt off in one fluid motion, then removes those shiny leather shoes, then his socks, mindful that the elastic doesn't stretch. He's anything but careless with his wardrobe. Finally he shimmies out of his trousers and slings them carefully on top of the pile already on the back of the chair. 

He is, for the first time, stark naked in front of her. He's thick with muscle, tapered waist leading to that ridiculous python between his legs. He was not bluffing earlier - Crowley has wonderfully athletic calves, and thighs, and as he turns to set aside his trousers she can see that his round bum is delightfully firm, too.

He climbs up and kneels between her thighs, grinning. He's running his hands up and down her legs, admiring the view of his human lover, disheveled and aching for him, bound to her own bed with his tie. He slowly leans up over her, laying his forearms along the outside of her stretched upper arms, covering her soft body with his solid, muscular one. He leans down and begins to kiss her, lazily, brushing his soft tongue along her lips, taking her lower lip between his teeth, sliding his tongue against hers as she eagerly opens her mouth to him. At the same time, he begins to slowly slide his length through her soaking folds, brushing her clit with his head, slicking himself up with her juices. She whimpers helplessly against his mouth. She feels his grin against her lips, and then he's pulling back and he's entering her, not even needing his hands to guide him as her pussy hungrily swallows him in. "Fuuuuuccckkkk," she growls as he carefully slides in to the hilt, stretching her and filling her, every ridge and vein stimulating her sensitive walls. He groans appreciatively at her tight, wet heat. He is a gentleman and tries to be aware of his size lest he do his lady partners permanent damage but she's deep, taking him like a champion, thrusting her hips down to meet him. "Long live the King," she breathes, and she's grinning and so is he because they just feel so fucking good together, and he begins to move, pulling almost all the way out and then sliding back in torturously slow, and these deep, primal groans are coming from her throat and he's whispering utter debauched filth in her ear in that demonic voice and she can't keep her eyes focused so they just roll back into her head. Part of her wishes her hands were free so she could grip that messy hair or dig her nails into his strong back so hard he bleeds, but a bigger part of her is thoroughly enjoying the feeling of being trussed up and at his mercy. She wraps her legs around him and locks her ankles in the small of his back, which he takes as the hint it's meant to be and speeds up his pace. She feels his stomach muscles flexing on top of her as he begins fucking her with enthusiasm, the head of his gorgeous cock brushing that spot inside of her and she never knew she was a screamer until this moment. "You feel so fucking good, darling, so bloody good, I love the way you take my cock, you're gorgeous you are, bloody perfect, FUCK!" And he's fucking her hard now, slamming into her, his body curled up so that his curved dick is hitting all the right spots inside her, her mouth is open in a silent scream and she's forgotten to breathe and then she is coming harder than she ever has, staring into his face, vision going fuzzy around the edges until it's nothing but those red eyes staring into hers, boring into her soul, and she's just gushing hot fluid around him, her walls have clenched so hard he's almost pushed out of her but he slows his pace and fucks her through it, thrusting in and up in a sinuous roll of his hips. She gasps for breath finally and all she can do is LAUGH. She is laughing and tears have started rolling sideways into her hair. He brushes them away with his rough thumbs, looking like the fucking Cheshire cat, all smug grins and bright eyes. "Ho-ly-fuck!" She pants. She throws her head back against the pillows as he continues leisurely thrusting in and out of her.

He rears up, grabs her hips, and flips her over, all while keeping them connected. "Grab onto the bar, love, I'm not done with you quite yet," he purrs. With a wave, he sends the pillow (which had been under them and is now absolutely soaked, poor thing) flying across the room. He makes sure she's comfortable, her torso cushioned on the pillows at the head of her bed and hands gripping onto her headboard firmly, her back arched and arse pushed out to him. He settles his knees outside of hers, keeping her legs closed. She's never tried it this way before. He starts to thrust into her again, slowly at first to test her post-orgasmic sensitivity. "Ohhh. Oh my. Oh... wow. How is this even - how does this feel so - fuuuck... " she's moaning and it's muffled by her pillows but still clear as a bell to Crowley. The word "smug" no longer does him justice. "You're so tight, love," he whispers almost reverently. Her orgasms have constricted her walls and this position pushes them even closer together. He runs his warm hands over her bottom, down the backs of her thighs, back up to her lower back. He wraps her hair around his left wrist and tugs experimentally and is rewarded with another groan. He rubs her arse with his right hand, then raises it and brings it down with a sharp slap. She cries out and clenches around him. He tries it again, and again, and her cheek begins to pink and warm up under his palm. He switches sides, releasing her hair and massaging her scalp briefly before securing it with his right hand and administering to her left cheek. Satisfying slaps are filling the room alongside her cries and the sincere moans in between. 

She's perfectly pinked, slamming herself backward onto him. She's beginning to tire, but he can tell she's not quite ready to stop. He massages her scalp once again with both hands, then runs them down her shoulders, briefly dipping down and cupping her breasts, kneading them and tweaking her nipples. She chuckles softly into the pillow. He follows her curves until he's got a good hold on her hips. He picks up his pace again, grinding into her with every thrust. She's so wet for him from her spankings that he can see shining trails dripping down her thighs. She's grabbing into her metal headboard so hard that her knuckles have turned white. With her legs closed like this, she can feel every inch of him not only inside herself, but sliding along her folds and outer lips as well. As he starts to speed up, she's thankful for that little extra cushion. She bucks back to meet his thrusts and he's slamming into her. His hands are almost scorching her hips, grabbing so tight she's going to have bruises in the morning, and he's moaning with abandon because she's so tight this way, and her cries have merged into one long wail of pleasure, muffled by the pillow underneath her but still so loud she expects the police to bust in looking for a torture victim. "Come on darling, I know you've got one left in there for me," he growls, and it's her undoing. She bucks one last time into him and then her muscles are clenching, and she's sobbing as her abdominal muscles jerk and her pussy walls flutter around him, and with one more wild growl he's burying himself in her and he's coming hot and hard inside her. He thrusts gently a few more times and then with a snap of his fingers her hands are freed and he's grabbing her around the waist and falling over sideways together and holding her tightly. 

After a few moments, he releases her waist and, sitting up, rearranges her so she's laid out flat on her stomach, head cushioned on her arms. A very expensive-smelling ointment has appeared in his hand, and he's slathering her back, shoulders, even her pink bottom. It smells slightly medicinal, but it's masked with sweet orange and a hint of vanilla. Those strong hands gliding over her sore muscles feel heavenly. Well, that may be the wrong adjective. But it feels so good. 

"You are amazing, pet. You done me proud," he's murmuring as he cares for her. A snap of his fingers and she no longer feels sticky between her legs. She smiles sleepily, thinking about how she could get used to this. 

"Not s'bad y'self," she mumbles. 

"You're completely knackered, aren't you?" He smiles down at her. 

"Mmm."

"Here," he's offering her 2 ibuprofen and a glass of cool water. "Just take these for me and drink the water. Then I promise I'll leave you alone."

"Mmm!" She's frowning and that was definitely not a happy sound. She sits up and takes the pills, glaring at him over the rim of the glass.

"You want me to stay?"

"Mmm." She smiles and hands him the glass, which promptly disappears. Never gonna get tired of that... 

He grins, happier than he really should be by her grunted admission. He once again settles on his side, pulling her down in front of him so her back is to his chest. He plays idly with her nipple. "You know, it might appear a bit unseemly for you to be gallivanting with the King of Hell."

"Fuck 'em," she replies. 

Both grinning like idiots, they drift off together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's actually finished this time I swear! That damn demon stamina... ;)


End file.
